


A Burden to All (but me)

by Forest_Girl



Series: Daneroweek 2020 [4]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: (no specific mythology followed i'm just winging it), Aliases, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Bathing/Washing, Dante and Nero are not related, God!Dante, Human Sacrifice, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mythology - Freeform, No Smut, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Tony Redgrave is an Alias, Virgin Nero, Virgin Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22161160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forest_Girl/pseuds/Forest_Girl
Summary: On Fortuna, the season has not been… productive. The crop’s yield was practically non-existent, and without food, their livestock were struggling. Unable to provide a proper gift to remain in the God of Protection’s favor, the Order decides to offer a virgin sacrifice.Nero is less than happy about this.
Relationships: Dante/Nero (Devil May Cry)
Series: Daneroweek 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587706
Comments: 19
Kudos: 208
Collections: DaNero Week 2020





	A Burden to All (but me)

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompts Mythology, Roses, and AU (despite the fact there are like… three fics i’ve posted that are all technically AU)
> 
> Somewhat inspired by various conversations on the Danero discord server. I hope I didn’t steal anyone’s ideas directly, but damn, I really wanted to write sacrifice!Nero for daneroweek.

Fortuna had a _bad_ year.

First, winter had stayed longer than usual, making the growing period for their crops incredibly short. They barely got half the usual yield and, even then, spring and summer were unusually rainy, meaning that most of the crops had been over-watered, which left most of them to wither.

They managed to get a decent yield of fruit, but a majority of it went to an offering for the Goddess of the Hunt in the summer, hoping that their livestock would be strong.

And then most of their livestock got sick from some disease or another, no one really knew. The few animals that didn’t die or had to be put-down were severely thin, and weren’t options for the winter offering. They could try to offer fish, but the yield there was also small, the fish traversing to warmer waters, and what little had been caught needed to go to the people.

In other words, the Order was desperate. They absolutely _needed_ the offering following the bad harvest season, a bid that Dante, the God of Protection, would give them an extra layer of security during the brutal winter, but now they couldn’t.

Well, they couldn’t proceed with their _usual_ offering. The cattle and livestock were a bust—the island needed every spare bit of meat they could—but the _people…_

Well, offering a Dante a small, innocent virgin seemed like a pretty sweet deal for securing their safety, especially since he was known for being somewhat of a seducer according to myth.

Problem was, no one was willing to be sacrificed, especially when most people assumed that the Order wanted to give the hulking, fully armored behemoth with serrated teeth a small, innocent girl without any way to defend herself. No one could blame them for wanting to protect their kids.

Well, Nero could, because if someone ponied up and willingly decided to be the offering, he wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.

‘Virgin’ was not a label that only applied just to women, it just meant that someone never had sex. In other words, Nero, who had never had anything more than an awkward boner during one of his patrols, was prime material for being a virgin sacrifice. It was like the fucking stars aligned and gave the Order exactly what they wanted, since they’d be able to get rid of a rowdy, insubordinate teenager who didn’t have any parents to object on his behalf.

Nero tried to fight back, at first. Last thing he wanted was to be a sacrifice under _any_ circumstances, let alone a virgin sacrifice, but Sanctus knew how to use his silver tongue to get Nero corralled. 

“You can leave and we would allow you to go, but that means we would have to find someone else to be selected.” Sanctus hummed mockingly. “Perhaps Kyrie would be a good sacrifice in your steed, or maybe Credo. Perhaps a child from the orphanage would be easier to control.” Sanctus smiled, his shadow long and dark. “Of course, that’s only if you decide to leave.

Just thinking about Sanctus’ threats (because that’s what they were, _threats)_ made his blood boil, but he bit his tongue and kept his head down. It made sense that the Order would want to use a ‘disorderly soldier’ as their sacrifice, but it still sucked that it was him. 

And then, as if to add further insult to injury, the Order branded their insignia on his back. They did it to the sacrificed livestock, Nero had done it himself as one of the Order’s soldiers. It seemed pretty harmless when he was at the other end of the prod, but now, he felt dehumanized, only equal to cattle lined up for slaughter.

Now he had a raw burn on his back that hadn’t been treated. If he didn’t die from whatever Dante was going to do, or exposure, he was going to die a slow, painful death from an infection. If the Order wanting to get rid of him permanently wasn’t obvious before, it definitely was now.

Nero was subjected to a slightly altered procedure for preparing the livestock for sacrifice, a process he was painfully familiar with. After being locked in a jail cell for about a day or two with his wrists bound behind his back and ankles shackled, Nero was stripped of all his clothes and showered with cold water, then had his hair cut short before he was branded. Once all of that was done, Nero had a long white cloak thrown over him before he was led through the city, paraded by a small troop of soldiers to be brought to Lamina Peak, where he’d be left on a dais to be ‘collected’ later.

He screamed and tried to fight throughout the entire process, even with Sanctus’ threats hanging over his head. He couldn’t actually break free, not without endangering the few people who cared about him, but he didn’t want anyone to think he’d gone along with this bullshit willingly.

Despite all of this, Nero couldn’t blame anyone for not trying to save him. No one was happy with the idea of a human sacrifice but, at the same time, no one could figure out another method for doing this. Without a large food stock, people were desperate and wanted some form of protection with a brutal winter on the horizon. Everyone wanted there to be a solution, and they were all relieved it wasn’t _them_ that didn’t have to be made into an offering.

And hey, if the town outcast that almost everyone hated disappeared, then who were they to complain? Certainly seemed like a good outcome to them, so long as human sacrifices didn’t become the norm.

Nero wanted to laugh. If everyone around him was seriously so blind as to believe that Sanctus wasn’t going to make this a regular thing, especially since it was much easier to just kill someone than offer up livestock, then they deserved what they had coming. All Nero could hope for was Kyrie and Credo getting out while they still could.

* * *

Lamina Peak was brutal year-round, but it was even worse during the winter. The mountains were high, and it snowed almost constantly. The stone was hard and impossible to carve or cut away safely, so it was nigh-impossible for anyone to make a stable path. 

Nero knew through history classes that there had been many, _many_ attempts to expand Fortuna into the mountainside, but almost all of them had been thwarted by one thing or another. The closest they ever got was an ancient castle built more than four centuries ago. The whole thing had nearly been completed before a blizzard had swung through, killing most of the workers overnight. The castle itself seemed to disappear, with no trace of it to be found.

Soon after, the entire region was labelled as the god’s territory. There was one, very thin stretch of road that lead to the offering dais, but that was it. After that, there was no way to proceed without mountain climbing gear, and without a significant risk of dying.

Nero suspected that the reason why he’d participated in so many of the winter offerings was a punishment. Maybe to make him behave, or maybe they were hoping he’d die somehow. It wasn’t too outlandish an idea.

Thankfully, since the soldiers were escorting him alone, the trip was much safer. Having to lead cows and goats and whatever other animals were gathered was much harder than making sure that one, weakened human didn’t run away or throw himself down the mountainside. 

There were four soldiers, a general, and one bishop in the group. Nero didn’t know who it was that had been picked, the hood hiding everything but his feet beneath him. The soldiers flanked him (two in front, two behind), and the final one was at the bishop’s side for protection. The trip was silent, minus a few whispers every now and again.

The roads were long and unforgiving, and Nero was sure he had various cuts on his soles based on how badly they hurt, but they made it to the dais before sunset. Usually, an offering trip with livestock took so long, they wouldn’t get there until evening, and they had to stumble their way back in the dark, with only torches to light the path. 

Part of their early arrival was because they only had to ‘herd’ Nero, who was really only limited by his restraints. The other part was that the weather held, the sun bright above their heads without a cloud in the sky. On any other day, at any other moment, seeing Lamina’s snow topped, sunlit peaks would be beautiful.

What a lucky fucking guy he was.

Nero is forced to his knees, the hands on his shoulder surprisingly gentle. They don’t push him, but they are there, keeping him down. It was another small, odd mercy, considering he must have made a bloody trail with his footprints on the way up with how bad they hurt. 

The soldiers step away from the dais, and the bishop began to recite his prayers with a steady, booming voice, the words weaving their way through the mountaintops. Nero couldn’t see what was happening, the hood still draped over his face and the sun lighting the cloth to a near-blinding white, but he’s been through the ceremony enough times to visualize it properly. 

The bishop and general would be in front of him, the former with his holy book in hand while the general would hold a torch so he could read (something that wouldn’t be happening _now,_ of course, but Nero had never experienced this in the daytime). There would be some soldiers behind him, and some to his left and right. Normally, they kept the animals from wandering off the dais, but… maybe they’d all be standing behind him. Hell, Nero didn’t know.

It didn’t matter either way, they’d be gone and less than ten minutes, and Nero would be left to die. How _wonderful._

The bishop finished his prayers, the book closing with a thump. He let out a heavy sigh, “I… normally don’t do this, and it’s certainly not a part of the usual ceremony, but… would anyone like to say anything?”

Nero wanted to _scream._ Was the bishop really trying to bait someone into saying some nice words, like they were at a funeral? 

…Well, they kind of _were,_ but still. The only people who ever liked him were Kyrie and Credo, and even then Nero was sure that he’d tested their patience more than once.

A long period of awkward, tense silence followed. Nero couldn’t hide his flinch when the bishop cleared his throat. “We… need to leave, soon. I wish to go ahead with the soldiers. General, you should stay for a few moments longer, to make sure that the sacrifice is… complacent.”

Nero tensed. _Complacent?_ What the fuck did _complacent_ mean? He barely heard the sounds of the soldier’s boots over his panicked thoughts, and he startled when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and another pulled the hood back.

Nero nearly threw up when he saw Agnus’ toothy grin once his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. “Hello, Nero.”

“Agnus.” Nero glared, clenching his jaw so that he wouldn’t say something stupid. He doubted Agnus would do anything crazy to him, given that the only one more religious than him was Sanctus. Still, probably best to not piss him off when Nero couldn’t throw a punch.

“Aren’t you glad?” Agnus chuckled, grabbing a syringe and a small bottle filled with clear liquid, puncturing the lid as he prepared whatever he was planning to stab Nero with. “Your p-p-p- _pitiful_ existence will go towards a greater good.”

“I highly doubt that—”

Agnus’ hand snapped out and covered Nero’s mouth as he leaned close, his rotting breath rolling over Nero’s face. He held his breath as he tried to lean back, Agnus’ monocle flashing from the bright light reflecting off the mountaintop’s snow. “St-st-st-st-still your blasphemous tongue!”

Instead of doing what Agnus said, Nero cautiously darted his tongue out, licking Agnus’ palm. It was absolutely revolting and Nero did his best not to think about where Agnus’ hands had probably been, but it was worth Agnus’ disgusted reaction, pulling away from Nero with a scream as he frantically wiped his hand, then stuck it in a nearby pile of snow.

Nero bit down on his tongue as he watched Agnus continue to hop around, but he quickly sobered when Agnus turned and gave him a scathing glare. He stormed back to Nero, managing to grab his short locks and wrenching his head to the side before savagely puncturing his neck with the syringe. He pressed down on the plunger, and Nero could feel the ice-cold liquid pump through his veins. His skin tingled as it went numb, the sensation travelling up to his head and causing his vision to blur.

“I have n-n-n- _never_ felt more proud to prepare a sacrifice.” Agnus growled, watching with glee as Nero began to sway, his vision swimming. “May the Gods f-f-feast on your soul for all eternity.”

_“Go fuck yourself.”_ Nero managed to slur out before his body finally collapsed, his vision tunneling before he fell into his drug-induced sleep.

* * *

“Hey, kid?” Nero felt something nudge his shoulder, and he groaned, his face scrunching up. He was shivering constantly, and his throat felt like he’d swallowed sandpaper. “Oh good, you’re alive. Could’ve fooled me.”

“Wha—” Nero coughed, his head spinning from more than whatever drug Agnus had injected him with. Sanctus had denied him food and water for the days he’d been imprisoned, and he was only given a slightly-stale slice of bread and a glass of water before he’d been lead to Lamina peak.

“Damn, I knew that this was the crazier part of the world, but _holy shit._ They really did a number on ya, huh?” A hand, molten hot against his frozen cheek, picked him up and helped him sit up. Nero let himself get manhandled, his body shivering uncontrollably and decidedly uncooperative, still coming off the sedative. He heard something metallic squeaking, then something round and cold pressed against his lips, the hand tilting his head back. “Come on, try to take a few sips.”

Water poured into his mouth, cool and refreshing and absolute _bliss_ for his cottonmouth. Despite his body’s weakness, Nero swallowed, chasing after it when it was pulled away. “No, _please…”_

The voice shushed him, warm fingers carding through his shoddily-cut hair. “It’s okay, I’ll give you more in a second. Don’t want you drowning after all the shit these crazy bastards put you through.”

Nero breathed in, the cold air biting his lungs, and he struggled to lift his heavy eyes. Even with the supposed lower dosage, the sedative’s effects were _strong._ Nero would bet money that Agnus had made the solution himself, and had given Nero more than the required amount out of pettiness.

Finally, his eyelids twitched open. Hovering above his face was an older man, his long hair gray, a scruffy, yet well maintained beard lining his chin. Light blue eyes lit up with faint amusement as they looked at each other, plump lips ticking up into a smirk. “Hey there, Sleeping Beauty.”

“What…?” Nero grimaced, aches and pains making themselves known as he sat up, a punched-out groan slipping through his teeth. Turns out laying on cold stone for several hours without moving was _bad_ for your body. “Who are you?”

“Well now, _that_ is a loaded question. But I’ve got a better one—who are _you?”_

Nero looked over his shoulder, looking at the stranger fully. There was nothing about his outfit that didn’t look _weird._ He had on a black shirt, a pair of leather chaps with red pants underneath, with a grand total of _four_ belts strapped across his torso. He had a pair of leather boots, decorated with intricate stitch work creating vague floral patterns. The final part of his ensemble which really wrapped the entire thing together was his red leather coat, the tails spread out behind him.

He _had_ to be an outsider, Nero couldn’t think of any other explanation for his outfit and him not knowing what was happening. No one in Fortuna would be caught dead wearing leather, since it was considered a ‘sin’ to wear any material from a dead animal, and the current crisis with the offering was pretty well known throughout the island. Maybe he was a homeless, desperate outsider that wanted to die alone on Lamina Peak.

“I’m…” Nero hesitated, mostly because referring to himself as a sacrifice was fucking _terrifying_ to admit, and he’d really rather not admit that. He wanted to try his best to survive, even though the odds of him surviving more than a couple hours at this point were slim to none. 

Still, he took a deep breath, sat up as straight as he could, and looked the outsider in the eye. “I’m the offering for the God of Protection.”

“Well, yeah, I figured that out, since you’re one the platform where the offerings normally are.” The man patted his hand against the dais. “It’s just that they usually offer cows. Or sheep. Sometimes goats. You don’t really look like a farm animal. Or a farmhand, for that matter.”

“Well, we had problems with getting enough food, so… I’m taking their place.”

“You’re the replacement for a bunch of cows?”

Nero rolls his eyes. “Sure, when you put it that way.”

“Huh.” The man’s repeated, tilting his head. “Well, uh, I don’t… really know how to deal with this.”

Nero never thought he would ever meet someone who confused him with every word that left him, but this guy was certainly accomplishing that. “Why would you have to ‘deal with this?’ Fuck, what even is ‘this?’”

The man blinked. “Right, should probably try to explain some things.” The man blew a raspberry and leaned forward. “Let’s start with the basics. My name’s Tony. You?”

“…Nero.”

_“Just_ Nero?”

Nero lifted one of his eyebrows. _“Just_ Tony?”

“Alright, fair. So, uh…” Tony chuckled, nervously scratching the back of his head. “I guess I should first say to keep an open mind? Then again, your here as an offering so… your mind’s gotta be pretty open for _that.”_

“Tony, _please.”_

“Sorry, sorry. I’m the…” He seemed to struggle for a moment. “Delivery man, sort of. For the gods. I pick up the offerings, bring them to the gods’ territory, and then they, y’know, do whatever they want with it.”

Nero blinked, unable to hide his confusion. He’d never paid full attention to the religious texts when they were discussed in school or when Sanctus gave his sermons, but… he was pretty sure that there weren’t ‘messengers.’ Maybe his brain had made it up in his delirium, and this was just a crazy dream.

“You got all that buddy? You look kinda dazed.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I’m just trying to figure out the quickest way to wake up from this crazy, blood-loss, drug-induced hallucination. Don’t mind me.”

Tony frowned, reaching his hand out to tilt Nero’s head to the side. Still shaking off the effects of whatever Agnus had given him, he moved easily, unable to fight against the outsider's firm grip. Tony looked at his neck, his fingers tracing over a sore spot that made Nero flinch and pull his hair. “Fuck, don’t—”

“What did they _do_ to you?” Tony asked, his expression somber. It almost looked like he cared.

Nero snorted and hunched his shoulders, hoping that his piss-poor excuse for a robe could cover him a bit more as he looked down at the stone dais. “Nothing that I didn’t _deserve,_ according to them. Don’t get pissy about it.”

A long stretch of silence passed before Tony smacked his lips, patting his thighs and standing. “Welp, I’m not leaving you out here.”

Nero startled. “What?”

“Aw c’mon, kid. Even if I _wasn’t_ the guy who delivers sacrifices, I’m not going to let you sit out here to freeze to death.”

“But…” Nero looked up at him. “You have to. I’m the offering, I have to wait for the god—”

“And, like I said, I’m bringing you to him.” Tony waved his hand. “The big guys upstairs… they’re too lazy. Most of ‘em don’t even accept the offerings, and end up leaving them on whatever pedestal to rot. I keep an eye out here because I know the Fortunans offer animals during the winter, and Eva likes to take care of them.”

Nero furrowed his brow. Eva was the goddess of the hearth, though she was frequently prayed to by mothers, or those wanting to _be_ mothers, in hope she would bless them with a child. She was often considered one of the few goddesses you prayed to in the privacy of your own home. People would often give her small baubles, some seeds, maybe grain or loaves of bread, not animals. “The cows aren’t offered to Eva…?”

“Well, most of the time, Dante doesn’t know what to do with them, so he just gives them to Eva. Dante would probably just wind up killing them and leaving a mess for some other poor sap to clean up.”

For the first time in his life, Nero could actually understand how Credo felt whenever he talked bad about Sanctus when the old fart wasn’t looking. “You… have to be an outsider.” Nero chuckled. “No one just… talks about the gods so openly like this, especially in a negative way. If I said anything like that, I’d get punched.”

“Yeah, well, outsider or not, I know when someone’s lazy as shit and doesn’t know a pigsty from a barn.” Tony shrugged. “Now, you think you can walk, or do you need a few more minutes?”

“Even if I wasn’t drugged,” Nero grunted, managing to get his legs to cooperate long enough to bring them around and show his bloody and bruised feet to Dante. “Don’t really think these are in the best condition for standing, let alone walking.”

Nero looked up at Tony and managed to catch a glimpse of something… _dark_ flicking across them. He’d seen it a few times with Credo when he’d done something spectacularly stupid and pissed him off, but this felt… darker. More intense. Nero tried to scoot back but, even though his legs were barely responsive.

“Okay then, let’s try…” Faster than Nero could follow, Tony darted down, hooked his arms beneath Nero’s legs and back, and picked him up off the ground. Nero yelped, twisting as he instinctively tried to grab onto Tony’s coat, but he was stopped by the chains. Thankfully, Tony managed to hold Nero in such a way that his arms’ circulation wasn’t cut off, and he kept his feet from bumping against the ground. “This!”

“You…!” Nero thrashed, trying to throw Tony off-balance, only for the man to move with him. “Give me some more warning next time!”

Tony had the gall to _laugh._ “Sorry, but I figured you wouldn’t agree to it.”

Nero bit his tongue and looked away, heat flushing his cheeks. Tony had a point—he didn’t like the idea of being carried, let alone in someone’s arm like… like a _bride—_ but… well, he clearly didn’t have another option. He was exhausted from the trip up and still recovering after Agnus’ little injection, so walking was out of the picture. Even if he wasn’t tired, walking still would have hurt, and it would have potentially worsened any wounds he’d already had.

Plus (and Nero _hated_ that he’d noticed this), Tony was… warm. It was like there was a little bubble of heat surrounding him that had washed over Nero, chasing out the worst of the chill. After suffering through hours of walking over cold stone, the mountain air cutting through his robe, and trudging through piles of snow, feeling warm was very, _very_ welcome.

“Just…” Nero sighed. “Don’t drop me. Please.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, kid.” And Tony proceeded to walk into the uncharted areas of Lamina.

At any other day, at any other time, Nero would have been able to properly appreciate the wonders of seeing Lamina’s peaks at sunset. The snow, while just as bright and reflective as it was during the early hours of the morning and mid-afternoon, were a beautiful spectacle of reds, oranges and yellows as the sun dipped below the horizon. Contrasted with the dark stone of the mountains themselves, and it was truly beautiful. 

Nero had seen a few tourists come to Fortuna with portable cameras as they took pictures of the architecture and various monuments. That type of technology wasn’t available to the island’s natives, and Nero had never had a need for one, but damn, did he wish he had one now. Kyrie would—

Nero shook his head, looking down at his lap. He shouldn’t be thinking about Kyrie and how she would love the view when he was never going to see her again. He was going to die by Dante’s hands, or perhaps he’d become one of Eva’s farmhands and help tend to the sacrificed animals, if he was lucky. Even if he was allowed to live and return, he wouldn’t be able to live in Fortuna. He’d be turned away as a bad omen, or hunted down and killed.

Fortuna was as dead to him as Nero was to it, but… he could at least hope Kyrie would have a happy future.

Still, if there was one other slight positive to this whole situation, it was that Tony was incredibly careful the entire way. The mountain paths were more rugged, obviously, given that so few people ever went past the offering dais, but Tony made sure to take the smoothest-looking option, and was always careful enough to make sure he didn’t bang Nero’s head or feet against anything. It made Nero’s stomach twist a little bit, completely blindsided by the level of consideration he was showing to a dead man.

Eventually, the sun fell completely, and the moon shone high above them. Whatever heat Tony naturally exuded kept them from freezing as the sun took what little warmth it provided away, but it barely darkened. The moon was full and bright, lighting the mountain tops with an ethereal light, which became all the more unreal as the snow reflected it. Nero tilted his head back and gasped, marvelling at the countless stars and shining above them, wispy trails of green and turquoise light twisting through the dark space between them.

“They’re called northern lights.” Tony spoke, his voice hushed, as if to not spook Nero. “They appear every once in a while. When my brother and I were kids, we’d always sneak out to see them.”

“I’ve never seen this many stars before.” 

“You can’t see them from Fortuna because there’s too much residual light from all the buildings. But up here, where there’s nothing?” Tony sighed, adjusting his hold on Nero and bringing him closer. “It never gets old, seeing all of this.”

The rest of the trip was silent, but Tony kept his steps measured and smooth, almost like he was gliding over the craggy paths only he could see. It was a small gesture, keeping Nero from jostling around, and Nero felt like he’d swallowed something too big and was struggling to keep it down. His eyes burned, and not from the crisp mountain air.

Was it sad to think that Tony was the nicest man he’d ever met? Nero definitely thought so, but… at least he’d die having met someone who seemed genuinely kind.

“We’re here.” Tony said in that same hushed voice. Though he didn’t startle Nero, the two simple words were enough to make his heart clench as he pulled his gaze away from the sky high above to see…

The castle. The very same one that they’d talked about in school that had been constructed centuries ago. There were a few drawings of it that his teacher had shown and, if it wasn’t the same one, then it was a _very_ good copy of it.

_“This_ is where the gods live?”

“Eh, sort of?” Nero was lifted up and down as Tony shrugged. “Think of it like a… halfway point. There’s no real place on the planet where the gods actually _live,_ so there are some real world locations that essentially act as a gateway to where they are. This castle is one of them, there’s a big ol’ mansion and a little shop on the mainland…” 

Each step Tony took towards the castle’s large entrance made Nero tense up more and more, until he finally blurted out, “What are you going to do to me?”

Tony paused, looking down at Nero. He bit his lip and shuffled his feet, adjusting his grip on Nero again. “Well… I was thinking we could tend to your feet first, maybe get you some actual clothes, then see what happens next.”

Nero laughed bitterly. “Wouldn’t it be quicker to just hand me over and get this whole thing over with?”

Tony frowned, and that dark look came back to his eyes. Nero tried to shy away, but he tightened his grip, and the heat surrounding them suddenly became unbearable. The air felt thick, like the air was condensing into a thick steam, and Nero struggled to breathe. 

A few seconds passed before Tony took a calming breath, and the tension between them fades. The heat reverted a welcome caress, Tony’s fingernails are no longer digging into his skin through his robe “I think… we should get inside.”

Nero didn’t have the courage to speak up after that, tucking his chin to his chest as Tony opened the door to the castle. Tired and unwilling to look around, Nero relied on his hearing to give him an impression of the castle. He heard pots and pans clanging off in the distance, feet pattering above him on the second floor, some hushed conversations managing to leak into the great hall. Nero was mildly surprised at how… vibrant the castle felt. He expected it to feel abandoned, a yawning emptiness filling empty halls and rooms, not lived in.

Tony ignored it all, probably used to the general clamor, as he made his way to another set of stairs to the second floor. Nero glanced out of the corner of his eye and blanched as he saw a few maids standing in front of a room, their bodies transparent enough that he could see that wall through them. “What…?”

“Don’t worry, just some ghosts.” Nero’s head jerked up to see Tony smirking. “Some of them are people atoning for crimes, a couple are people who devoted their lives to servitude willingly. They tend to the in-between spaces and, sometimes, if they’re really loyal and prove their worth, they take care of the gods’ personal realms.”

“And… they’re just standing there?”

“Nah, I phoned ahead.” Nero furrowed his brows, but Tony called out to the maids before he could ask what he meant. “Hey, is the bathroom ready?”

“Yes, my lord.” The maids bowed. “At your request, we’ve prepared the bath and set some towels and clothes aside for later. Is there anything else you’d wish for us to grab?”

“Yeah, some disinfectant and bandages. Maybe some tweezers, too.” Tony hefted Nero up a bit higher. “Gotta help out our friend here.”

“Of course, my lord. We will return shortly.” The maids rose from their bow and drifted—actually _drifted,_ no leg movement whatsoever—past the two of them. Nero shivered as an uncomfortable cold breeze cut through the bubble of warmth still surrounding Tony.

Without hesitation, Tony pushed his way into the room, and Nero flinched, half-expecting to see Dante standing there, laying in wait for his ‘gift.’ Instead, Nero was greeted by an… incredibly lavish bathroom. The countertops were marble with a large sink in the center, various soaps and shampoos placed on it, as well as a small pile of simple clothes. There was a large mirror, bigger than Nero’s torso, above it. The walls were covered in vines, with large red roses blooming periodically, wrapping around the towel rack, which had large, thick towels hanging from them. The bath itself was practically a hot tub with how big it was, with wisps of steam rising from its surface, little wisps of light shining down above them.

“Holy _shit.”_ Nero couldn’t keep the exclamation in if he tried. Tony chuckled and set him down on the toilet, which was the only simple thing in the room. It was porcelain, with a small handle to flush, set right next to the bath. 

“Is this… Dante’s bathroom?” Roses were considered Dante’s patron flower, enough so that multiple depictions often were framed with drawings or carvings of the flower itself. The only reason why they never offered flowers as an offering was because Fortuna was too inclement during the winter to grow them. “Do gods even need a bathroom?”

“The answer to both those questions is… technically no?” He reached over to one of the roses, plucking it from the vine and watching as it opened further in his hand. “I mean, I don’t know about the gods’ bathroom business personally, but this place is mine.”

“Well… it’s definitely a nice place.” Nero shrugged, another tense silence stretched between them.

“Okay, so…” Tony clapped his hands, the sudden noise making Nero flinch. “I was thinking I’ll turn around so that you can undress and get in. Then, when the maids come back, I’ll help you with your feet. Sound good?”

Nero blinked, speechless as he looked at the very warm, very _enticing_ bath. “You… don’t have to help. You know that, right?”

“Well, yeah, but I want to.” For the first time since meeting him, Nero saw some of Tony’s casual confidence falter. “Unless you… want me to leave?”

“No!” Even if it was humiliating having someone take care of him, Nero absolutely did not want to be alone. Every second with Tony meant another second he was alive, and he’d take every second he could get. “I-It’s fine, I just… can’t do much with my hands chained up like this.”

“Oh. Right.” Tony stepped close and grabbed the main chain connecting Nero’s wrists. “Can you pull them taut for just a second?”

“O… kay?” Nero pulled his wrists apart until the chains went tight. “Don’t know exactly what you can do about them—”

There was a loud _SNAP_ and Nero’s arms suddenly jerked further apart, the chains clattering against the toilet seat cover. Nero’s brain went over what just happened, only for Tony to come around and kneel in front of him. “Okay, can you do that with your legs?”

Stunned, Nero pulled his ankles apart, watching as Tony grabbed the chain connecting his ankles and, with practically zero effort, snapped the link in two. He stood back up and brushed his hands off just as a series of knocks came from the door. “That’s probably the maids with the bandages. I’ll be right back.”

Once the door shut behind Tony, Nero let out a shuddering breath, looking at his newly freed wrists. The shackles were still there, and the remaining chains clinked merrily. What the hell was Tony’s endgame? If he could shatter steel with ease, then why didn’t he just kill Nero on the dais and save himself the effort of… all of _this?_

Fuck, regardless of Tony’s intentions, there wasn’t much he could do at this point. His feet were slightly swollen, and he was willing to bet he had an infection, possibly even frostbite in a couple of his toes from how pale they were. He couldn’t run, but, even if he could, he was in the middle of a mountain range with no clue where to go. Leaving would mean certain death, especially in the middle of the night, when the temperatures were the lowest they could be.

So, without any other options, Nero carefully pulled his robe off, throwing the damned thing to the corner for it to rot. With no small amount of pain, Nero managed to stand up and move just enough so he could sit on the edge of the tub, then slowly lower himself into the warm water.

Nero nearly moaned. The water was the perfect temperature—not scalding, not freezing, just on that perfect warmth that did wonders for his aching body. He brought his feet under, hissing as the water wrapped around and dove into the various cuts, wisps of red appearing under the surface as small fragments of stone flaked off. 

If Dante came through that door right now and killed him right now, Nero would probably be fine with it. This was pure bliss after the past week of bullshit he had to deal with.

As if responding to his thoughts, the door creaked open, Tony slipping through before hastily shutting it behind him. Bundled in his arms were enough bandages for an army and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and Nero was already dreading having to clean his wounds.

“Sorry ‘bout the wait.” Tony apologized, placing the medical supplies on the toilet lid, just by Nero’s discarded chains. “Turns out, it wasn’t the maids.”

“Oh?”

“Well, it was _one_ of the maids, and also my brother.” Tony rolled his eyes, grabbing a cotton ball and pouring some of the rubbing alcohol on it. “He saw me carrying you in and wanted to know what was up. We don’t have human sacrifices often, so you’ll probably be the talk of the castle for a little while.”

“You mentioned him before.” And Tony’s curious ‘hm?’ Nero continued. “You said the two of you snuck out a lot to look at the stars.”

“That was when we were younger—can you lift your feet out?” With great reluctance, Nero rested his feet on the edge of the tub, the chains clicking. “Thanks. Anyways, my brother grew up to be a _real_ hardass. Likes busting my ass about anything and everything nowadays.”

“Including me?”

“Including you.” Tony squinted his eyes, looking at the various cuts on Nero’s feet and pulling the few rock fragments out of the cuts. Nero was quiet throughout the process, refusing to let out any noise, but couldn’t hold back a hiss as Tony swiped the disinfectant-soaked cotton ball over the cuts. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Nero grit out. “Rubbing alcohol is a bitch, we all know that.”

Tony chuckled, “Yeah, guess so.”

Finally, after many more cotton balls and barely-restrained noises of pain, Tony finished cleaning his cuts. Putting the tweezers and slightly bloodied cotton balls aside, he grabbed the rolls of bandages. The entire time, Tony was careful, making sure he didn’t tie a section too tight or too loose, making sure to finish by tying the bandages off on top of Nero’s feet, like they were presents waiting to be unwrapped.

By the time he finished, Nero’s body was almost completely relaxed, the warm water doing its magic as the soreness practically melted away. His eyes fluttered, and he barely managed to hide a yawn behind his hand, a sleepy haze starting to slow his thoughts.

“You getting tired?” Tony’s voice pulled him out of his daze, and Nero shook his head, feeling a minor pang of sadness as he was reminded of his new short hairdo.

“‘M fine.” He mumbled, sitting up a bit to try and stave it off. “Once you’re done, we can…”

“Hey,” Tony’s large, warm hand rested on Nero’s shoulder. “I’ll bring you to my room. You can relax a bit there, maybe take a nap, and then we’ll take you to Dante.”

“We can’t keep putting this off.” Nero said with a resigned tone. “Look, I appreciate this. Really, I do, but if this is the only way to keep the people I love safe, then I have to do it.”

“But that’s just the thing, you _don’t.”_ Tony nudged himself closer, the only thing separating them was the wall of the bathtub. “Human sacrifices are rare because we don’t like them. Most of us want to see you live, not see you all die in droves, or—or get left atop a mountain to freeze to death! It’s not right.”

Nero opened to argue back and tell Tony that he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, but he paused, his brain tripping over something Tony had said. “What do you mean, ‘we?’”

Tony paled. “What?”

“You said _we_ don’t like human sacrifices. Not the gods, _we.”_

“Ah, well…” Tony chuckled nervously, his fingers twitching against Nero’s shoulder. “I figured looking like… this—” He gestured at his entire body indiscriminately. “—would make a better first impression.” 

“Wh—” Before Nero could finish the question, Tony was swallowed by flames. Nero frantically backed away, turning his head when the light grew too bright, and when he looked back, Tony was gone.

In his place stood Dante.

Nero swore, his fight or flight instincts immediately kicking in. Dante was just as terrifying as all the depictions led Nero to believe. Four thick wings spread and pushed against the walls, singing the vines. Dark chitinous plates acted as armor, with red, lava-like cracks in between glowing in low-lit bathroom. Steam billowed out from razor sharp teeth, and two burning, yellow-red eyes lacking pupils pierced Nero’s soul. 

He scuttled back, but he couldn’t get far. The tub was certainly big enough for them to have, but he needed to keep the bandages around his feet dry, which meant keeping his body curved weirdly to keep them above water. 

“Nero, it’s still me.” Tony’s voice echoed in the room, coming from Dante’s chest, but it was different. Him, but not. A second layer underneath that made Nero’s skin crawl. A slightly hysterical laugh left Nero as he stared at the god, panic bubbling up in his chest.

_“What…”_ Nero’s voice cracked, and he tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. “What the _fuck.”_

“It’s still—” Dante growled, and its body was swallowed by flames. Tony appeared once more, looking exasperated. “There’s no… _Tony._ I made the name up. It’s just me. It’s always been _me.”_

“So this was just a long haul?” Nero pushed back, jumping as his back hit the cool, porcelain wall of the tub, his heels brushing against the water’s surface. “A way to—to play with your food? Make me trust you, then laugh when the big reveal happens and you slit my throat?”

_“No!_ What the hell, I don’t want to do that!” To— _Dante_ groaned into his hands and sat further back, but Nero refused to relax and fall back into the god’s game. “I don’t want to kill you! I don’t like it when people offer me cows and everything else to protect them, I just give them to mom or I bring them to other villages that need them. Lucia told me the Fortunans left an offering for me and when I saw you I just…”

Dante sighed and slumped down, running his hand through his hair. “I hate the offerings, but I know why they do it. When it's an animal, it’s harmless, but humans? You were nearly dead when I found you up there—I thought you _were_ dead, and I’d just have to bring you to Morrison instead, and I wanted to go down to Fortuna and raze the entire city to the ground.”

Nero laughed again. “Funny hearing that from the god of protection.”

“Yeah, and that’s exactly why I’m mad.” Dante looked up, his eyes flashing with that ancient darkness that only a god could truly carry, the look of someone who had seen centuries pass like they were days. “I am supposed to _protect_ people, _protect_ life. Killing someone to get my attention goes against everything I stand for, and it pisses me off."

Nero tentatively inched closer, if only so he could rest his feet on the edge of the tub again. “Well… you haven’t killed me yet.”

“And I’m not going to.” Dante carefully reached out, placing his hand on Nero’s leg. It took almost all of Nero’s fortitude to not flinch as he felt slightly calloused palms turn into hard scales. “And I’m not going to protect Fortuna, I’m going to protect _you._ I’m going to find whoever taught you to be a sacrifice, and everyone who agreed to it, and I’m going to rip them to _shreds.”_

Nero shivered at the dark tone layering Dante’s voice and, despite sitting in the still-warm bath, despite the heat radiating off Dante in near-suffocating waves, Nero felt a chill run down his spine.

**Author's Note:**

> Godly Index/Reference thingy:
> 
> Dante: Considered the god of fire and protection, which is a purposefully vague term. People often send him yearly offerings to have Dante be in their good graces so he'll protect him. To protect against what, you ask? Damn near anything--invading armies, bad weather, someone making a quiet prayer so that, when they walk home that night, no one will jump them... really anything.
> 
> Lady (mentioned): Goddess of the hunt. Essentially the 'Artemis' of this fake little pantheon, offerings are usually given before hunting trips for good luck.
> 
> Eva (mentioned): Goddess of the hearth, fertility, and motherhood. She's often given offerings when women are trying to get married, or when current mothers feel they need a bit of guidance or strength when handling their families.
> 
> Lucia (mentioned): Somewhat of a messenger, she relays information from the human realm to the gods--mostly whether or not an offering is prepared for them so that they can go get it. Because of her lack of interaction with humans, she's often forgotten, and doesn't receive many, if any offerings
> 
> Morrison (mentioned): Often considered a God of Death, Morrison is actually responsible for judging souls and deciding what happens to them after the person dies. Offerings are usually given to him during funerals in a bid for the recently deceased person to end up in a 'nice place' so to speak


End file.
